


Monster Under the Bed

by timaeusTestifying



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts, This is not porn., Thoughts of Self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timaeusTestifying/pseuds/timaeusTestifying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster Under the Bed

Your eyes are wide, but you've never felt so tired. Your hands grab on tightly to the edges of the bathroom sink. You can't stop staring at the reflection in the mirror. The red marks on your neck, upper arms, and face remind you of what had happened not too long ago. You reckon there are more on your body, but you're just looking at your face in the mirror. You don't think you can handle looking at your body right now.

Your lower body and your back ache. You can barely stand, and even now it hurts. It hurts and it burns and you want to cry, but you've cried enough. You fear of hurling because your throat is sore from screaming. No one heard you.

You can't believe what a mess you feel like. You give a long sigh and move your hand to run through your hair. It stops mid-brush. You look at yourself in the mirror and thread your fingers into your hair. You like your hair. He did too. You open the cabinet that rests below the mirror for a pair of scissors. With one hand, you take a fistful of your blond locks and begin to cut. Now he has nothing to ruffle playfully. He has nothing to smell when he hugs you. He has nothing to bury his face into when you're watching a movie with him. He has nothing to yank when he forces your face down into the pillow.

Your hair looks like a disaster when you're finish. Ugly and uneven. Hopefully, that will make you unattractive to him. Hopefully, hopefully. You look at the scissors for awhile longer and debate gourging your eyes out. That way, you would never have to look at him or yourself. You could stab out your eardrums so you would never have to hear his voice. And if you could cut of your lips, he would have nothing to kiss. But by then, you'd be completely grotesque! He would never want to touch you then, would he? And if you were lucky, you'd bleed to death soon after.

You're cowardly, though. You place the scissors back in the cabinet and stare at yourself some more in the mirror. You can see the scratch marks from your face from when you were clawing at it in the shower. Everything felt like it was burning you, then. Your tears, your cuts, the bruises forming on your neck and waist. He was always tough, but he always held back.

Until tonight.

You clean the bathroom of your cut hair. A large towel is wrapped around you tightly, like a security blanket. You want to stay in the room forever and until you starve and rot. But no, you have to come out sooner or later. He would come and find you anyways. He would drag you out and he'd be angry with you for trying to stay in here. You can practically here him complain.

_'The hell are you in here for? I didn't buy this fuckin' penthouse with these bigass rooms for you to sleep in the fucking bathroom.'_

You grin slightly as you think of your response. _'Oh, please. You're talking smack as if you're wasting money, mister I spent millions on a Con Air shrine.'_

He would then scoff, but smirk. He would ruffle your hair and call you a brat. Then you two would lounge on the couch and watch old movies.

This probably would have happened if he was your brother. He was, but not anymore. He was a monster now. _The_ monster. The monster that had been hiding under your bed since you were four. The one where you would run to your bed after you turned off the lights so he wouldn't grab your feet and drag you under. Tonight, he had been extra quick and devoured you. But he didn't eat you. No, he wants to savour you. He wants every inch of you and he's not done and he'll never be done and he'll destroy you and you'll scream and cry and die a thousand deaths.

This nightmare will haunt you for the rest of your waking life. This is because it is now your reality.

You finally open the door. You peek your head out to find him smoking near the window. He began when he made his first movie. He only does it when he's stressed out. 

You swallow hard and walk out of the bathroom; nervously, you tighten the towel around you as if it is your shield. You would have liked it if you could go to your room without him noticing, but he does. He turns around and visibly frowns.

"Fuck, it looks like a lawn mower got to your head."

"Yeah."

"Why did you cut it?"

You don't say a thing. You're on the brim of tears and you're so, so scared. He walks to you and you stand still even though the pain is a dagger ripping through your body. Your gaze is to the floor until he cups your cheeks with both of his hands and makes you look up at him.

"Your poor, pretty hair... I guess it'll grow back. We'll have to buzz it so it grows in even. Look at this. And after all the damn time and money you spend on your hair all the time." A hand runs into your hair and you want to pull away but you refrain yourself. He'll hit you, you know it. You can't take anything more from him. "Come on. Do you want me to buzz it now?"

You jerk your head side to side. You don't even care if your hair is bothering you. You're too tired. Everything hurts. You want to sleep.

He gets the picture and silently pulls you to his room. You're hesitant, but you go along with him. You don't think you can sleep in your bed, not ever. Never never, because that's where the monster caught you.You can't go back because if you will you'll feel the recent past events and lose it. You can't lose it. You can't upset him. If you just go with him and say nothing, he'll be calm. He'll love you like he wanted to. If you lose it and try to struggle, if you call him a pervert or a creep, if you scream and fight, he'll never let you see the light of day again.

 _'If you would have just calmed down and let me like I said, you wouldn't be hurting so bad. This is what you get, fucking bitch.'_ What advice! If you had listened, would you still feel so hollow and empty?

He pulls you into his arms when you take a spot onto his bed. You want to barf out your insides and die. He can see your face and he is less than satisfied. "Look at me, baby. Look at me."

When you fail to look at him, he grabs your chin and makes you. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't want to hurt you, I didn't. This ain't my fault. I told you, didn't I? I love you, Dirk. I love you, and I'm sorry. Please forgive me." He holds you tight and kisses your temple repeatedly, as if he's a guilty puppy looking for affection by licking and nudging your hand.

But it isn't that simple. You can't forgive him. And if it isn't his fault, whose was it? Yours? No. You fail to believe such a thing. You refuse to. It's not your fault. You did what any sensible person would have done. He is the monster. He is the murder. He killed what was inside you and he's trying to play it off like it wasn't he who held the gun.

"Dirk, baby. I love you so much. I said I was sorry, and that I love you. Forgive me." It's more of an order now. You're too tired to fight, so you close your eyes and lean your cheek against his shoulder. Anything to make him content. As long as he leaves you alone. (Of course, you know he'll want more soon enough. He says nothing about 'I'll never do it again'. This will not stop. It will never stop. You're trapped forever.)

This is good enough for him. He pulls you down onto the bed. His arms are like a vice. You're no longer Dirk Strider, his brother. You're his property now. You just wish that he would break you and throw it away like an old toy soon. You don't want to live like this. A life like this will kill you, but keep you alive.

"I love you, Dirk." He says this as he gets comfortable against you.

You want to die.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. You know I love you, right, Dirk?"

Why didn't he just kill you too?

"I love you so much."

You want him to kill you.

"It'll be better next time, I promise."

_You want to die._

"Dirk?"

"I love you too, Dave."


End file.
